


Tim Drake vs The Cold and Flu Aisle

by second_hand_heaven



Series: TimKon vs Feelings 'verse [2]
Category: DCU
Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Sickfic, Tim is a good bro, Trans Character, Trans man Tim, bros being bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 13:08:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14449923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/second_hand_heaven/pseuds/second_hand_heaven
Summary: Tim Drake is a good bro, which is why he's staring at the cold and flu aisle in the pharmacy at 2am.(companion to 'Conner Kent vs The Menstrual Hygiene Aisle')





	Tim Drake vs The Cold and Flu Aisle

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to 'Conner Kent vs The Mentrual Hygiene Aisle' feat. Tim taking care of a sick Kon. 
> 
> As always, special thanks to TantalumCobalt. Any and all mistakes are mine. I don't own DC.

 

It's his night off, but Tim is still out on Gotham's streets at 2am. At least this time he's not wearing tights. As the pharmacy comes into sight, he slows his bike and pulls up to the curb.

Helmet off, he shakes out his hair before dismounting the bike. There’s no point fussing with his hair, though, as flicks up his jacket hood a moment later. In and out, that's the plan. He's got other places to be tonight, and being spotted at Tim Drake, billionaire's son, would be counter-productive.

The bell above the door barely musters a chime as he enters. He scans the store sharply, but he’s not looking for any threats. Well, he is, but not intentionally. He’s got his sights set on something other than vigilante justice tonight. Okay so, the cold and flu aisle. There it is. He catalogues each zone: child-appropriate treatments, “chemical free” treatments (Tim scoffs at it and moves along), sections for different types of coughs. Oddly enough, there's no section for treating a Kryptonian flu, which is a shame. That would be really helpful right about now. But Kon is half human after all, even if that half is taken from an evil megalomaniac. Surely some of this stuff should work on him?

With a shrug, he piles the products into his arms. Is it too much? Is he overly worried? Probably. It's just that Conner's never been sick before, not like this. So it's logical, then, to be concerned. Perfectly logical. He takes another packet of throat lozenges, just in case. Maybe should have grabbed a basket...

Waiting in line, because there was somehow a rush of customers this late at night, Tim spots something sitting on the shelving by the counter. It stares up at him with a stitched-on grin. Its left ear is flopped over, and on instinct Tim reaches out to fix it. The fur is impossibly soft, melting into Tim's palm. Its glass eyes plead with him, and he can’t say no. He adds it to his collection and finally makes it to the counter. The sullen cashier scans Tim's items slower than a goddamn sloth. Tim taps his foot impatiently.

Purchases tucked safely in his backpack, he heads out into Gotham's fog-drenched night. By some miracle, his bike is still by the curb and in one piece. Must be a quiet night for the rogues tonight. Revving his bike, he pulls away from the curb. He speeds back to the Manor; he's got a plane to catch.

 

* * *

 

Tim lands the Batplane in the empty field behind the Kent farm and jogs toward the house. The cloaking device hides it from view, although he shouldn't be gone too long.

The house is dark as he approaches. It should be, considering it's nearing 4am. He swings himself up to the open window with slightly less grace than usual.

“You could use the door, you know?” Kon says, his voice heavily congested. He sits up on the bed, switching on his bedside lamp. Pushing the blankets off his legs, he makes to stand before deciding against it, sinking down on the bed softly. He's wearing a ratty T-shirt and a pair of blue boxers, his hair loose from sleep and looking impossibly soft.

Tim nearly falls out the window. He's tired, okay? It’s definitely not because of the godly sight before him. Godly. Even sick with the flu Conner still manages to look like a freaking model. It's so not fair.

To cover for his earlier unbalance, he enters the room with a move he learned from Nightwing, a flip with just a touch of Dick’s brand of showmanship. Kon grins at the display, and it makes his chest tighten. He can picture the teasing he'd get from the rest if the bats, but none of his siblings are here to laugh about his useless crush anyway.

“I could,” he says, crossing the room, “but you never do me that courtesy when you come to visit.”

Kon lays back against the bed. “Yeah, but I can fly.” His shirt rides up a little, showing a ribbon of skin just above his waistband. Tim's eyes linger there a moment too long. He sits on the bed, an arms reach away from Kon.

“Not at the moment you can't.” It's true. Kon called him after he sneezed mid-air and flew backwards into a grain silo. He's been grounded since, but this cold hasn't budged. Hence why Tim's here with heavy artillery.

“Ugh,” Kon groans, throwing a hand across his eyes. “I hate this. How can people live like this?”

Human. Kon must feel horribly human, weakened by a common bug. Or perhaps not a common bug, considering its a Kryptonian strain. “It's a good thing I brought supplies then.” He opens his backpack and catalogues each item. Tissues (he insists on the kind that's infused with aloe vera), cold and flu tablets, two bottles of water, a thermos of Alfred's chicken soup, some vaporub, lozenges, and the blue teddy bear. Excellent. He lays it all out on the bed.

Kon props himself up on an elbow, watching. “Tim, you didn't have to…”

No, but he wanted to. That's what friends do, right? They look after each other. And besides, he kind of owes Kon after the tampon incident. “Of course I did. The Kent's are out of town; I didn't want you to be alone.” He knows firsthand how much it sucks to be sick alone.

There's a genuine smile on Kon's face, softer than his usual player grin. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.” He picks up the packet of cold and flu tablets, popping the blister packets and catching the pills in his hand.

“Maybe you should go a little easy on those…” But Conner pays him no mind, downing half the pills with a gulp of water. The bob of his Adam’s apple is tantalising to watch. Tim looks away, feeling a flush rising from beneath his collar.

“I'm Kryptonian, it won't affect me that much.”

“Half Kryptonian,” Tim reminds him, “but either way you shouldn't have these in an empty stomach.” He reaches for the thermos and unscrews the lid. He pours the contents into the cap and passes it to Kon. “Alfred made you some soup.”

Kon looks up at him in confusion. “He made me soup?”

He was the one to offer. Alfred's got a soft spot for Kon, ever since he found out about Kon's late night misadventures in the menstrual hygiene aisle. According to the Brit, Conner had proved himself to be “a fine young gentleman”, and was now apparently privy to soup privileges. Which is a big deal in the Wayne household, let it be known.

He takes a cautious sip, then his face lights up. “This is amazing. I love Alfred. I love him so much. He made me _soup._ He's my grandpa now, I'm adopting him.”

Tim barely holds back a laugh. “I don't think that's how it works, bro.”

“I don't care. I'll marry into the Wayne family if I have to.”

Marry into the… wow. Is this where he pastes a sign on his forehead saying ‘I'm single, marry me’? Perhaps not, it might seem a little desperate. “Cass is out of the question, unless you want to fight Steph to the death. Although, I hear Batcow is single.”

Conner shudders. “I live in the country, Tim. Please don't joke about that.”

Gross. Tim takes the tub of vaporub from the bed and hands it to Kon. “It should help with the congestion,” he explains.

Kon stares at it, but makes no move to open it.

“Let me,” Tim says, rolling his eyes. “Shirt off.”

Tim unscrews the lid and dips two fingers into jelly. Pungent, it should do the trick to clear the congestion.

He turns back to Kon and pauses. He's seen Kon without his shirt plenty of times, but this is… it's much more intimate this time.

Kon jumps at the first touch. “It's cold.”

“It's the menthol, you'll be fine,” Tim says, keeping his eyes on the task at hand. As if anything could distract him right now. The expanse of toned muscle, hairless tanned skin, keeps his attention like the most vexing puzzle. He wants to lick it. Probably not the best idea for numerous reasons, first and foremost being the horrid taste if the vaporub.

He works the jelly into Kon's skin, massaging gently at his chest. The contrast between his pale, scarred hands, and Kon's golden skin is gorgeous. Gradually, he works his way upward, to Kon's throat. He feels Kon swallow, the bob of his Adam’s apple beneath his finger. His hand stills against Kon's throat, resting there. What would it be like to squeeze it? What sounds would he make?

Conner's eyes are wide, lips parted. “Tim.” His voice is low, tight. It's so hot. “Tim?” he repeats, more concerned this time.

Tim pulls back, clearing his throat. “That should do it.” He wipes off his hand on his jeans, avoiding meeting Kon's gaze.

“What's that?” Kon says, breaking the awkward silence. When Tim finally glances over, he sees Kon pointing at the bear.

He feels himself blush. “Oh, um, I got this for you.” He picks up the soft toy and passes it to Kon. “Kids like to have soft toys when they're sick.”

Kon is in awe of the blue-furred bear. “I've never had one before.”

Oh. Of course Cadmus would never have given the growing Superman clone a toy, but the realisation hits him hard. Kon never had a soft toy before? Shit, he never even had a childhood. And isn't that a little heartbreaking?

Kon stares at the fluffy bear in his hand, thumb absently stroking the fur.

“Well now you do.” Tim tries and fails to read his expression. Is he okay? Was it too much?

He's enveloped in a hug, tight, cutting off his train of thought. “Kon?”

“Sorry.” Kon jerks back. “I-uh, I don't want you to get sick.”

It's sweet, really, but Tim couldn't care less about getting sick right now. He wants Conner's arms around him again. “It's a Kryptonian cold, and oddly enough I have no Kryptonian in me.”

There's a dopey grin spread across Kon's face. Seems like the medicine has started to kick in. “Would you like some?”

Tim nearly chokes on his tongue. “What?” Surely he misheard...

“Would you like some Kryptonian in you?” Conner giggles.

Tim doesn't answer, instead he shoves against Kon's shoulder that's shaking with laughter.

In all honesty, he would. He most certainly would, but that seems like a weird thing to admit to his best friend. But then again, said best friend was the one who brought it up. Having _some Kryptonian_ in him is like, ninety five percent of his fantasy material. But that doesn't matter. Kon is his friend. No matter what happens, no matter his feelings, _that_ is the most important thing. And besides, Kon's obviously too hopped up on whatever was in those cold and flu tablets to actually _mean_ it.

He rolls his eyes at Kon's antics and starts gathering his backpack. It's late, he should head back to Gotham before the sun is up. He stands from the bed and heads over to the window. The floorboards groan with each step, grown unused to being stepped on. “Get some sleep, Kon. Let me know how you're feeling in the morning.”

“Stay,” Kon says with a pout.

God, he wants to. But he needs to get back. If he stays, he's not sure how to stop things from being weird. He opens the window, about to slide though, but Kon halts him with a single word.

“Please?” There's a vulnerability in his plea.

Kon wants him, wants him here. Tim can't bring himself to fight it. His backpack drops to the floor. He kicks off his boots and starts undressing. Down to his T-shirt and boxers, he lays down on the bed beside Kon. “Batman is going to kill me.”

Kon pulls the covers up over them and scoots closer. There's no need to be so close, not really, but it's not like Tim's about to complain.

Spooning Tim's form, he murmurs, “I won't let him.” His arms tighten around Tim's torso. “He'll have to go through me.”

Which, in hindsight, Bruce would be quite capable of. He's got enough fail-safes for dealing with full-blooded Kryptonians; Conner wouldn't be an issue for him. But that's not what matters. Tim and Kon protect one another, look after each other, and the assurance of Kon's words let's an odd emotion wash over him. Safe. He feels safe. Wasn't he supposed to be comforting Kon, not the other way around? Regardless, he basks in it, basks in the warmth of Conner's arms, just like he did that night at the Manor. The reality is so much better than the memory of being held.

“Hey, Kon?” The words escape his lips before he can stop them.

“Mmyeah?” he answers, voice heavy with drowsiness.

“We’re a good team, aren't we? We have each others backs.”

“‘course.”

“And nothing would change that?”

“Never.” Kon's breathing is even against the back of his neck. He seems earnest, even a hair's breadth away from sleep.

But his useless feelings for Kon certainly might. That's the kicker, that's what he's afraid of. It's so dumb. He's so dumb. How could he let this happen? How could he fall for his best friend like this? They're friends, best friends. Maybe they can get through this, get over Tim's inconvenient and rather unhelpful _crush,_ and not lose their friendship in the process. Reassured, Tim turns in Kon's arms to face him. Conner's eyes are closed, lashes heavy on his cheekbone. “Kon?”

Conner doesn't reply.

Good. One day he'll have the guts to say this while Conner's awake. But today is not that day. He steels himself with a deep breath. “I like you. A lot. I want to tell you just how much, but I'm so scared I'll lose you. And I can't. I can't lose you. Not again.” Fuck, he’s such a coward. His eyes burn. “I'm scared to love you, Kon, because it's going to hurt.” He watches Kon's sleeping face, unmarred and so _so_ beautiful, and he just melts. “It already does.”

“S’okay,” Conner mumbles, pulling Tim to his chest. “I'm scared too.”

 

_FIN_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Comments and kudos are always welcome.
> 
> Feel free to come chat with me on my [tumblr ](http://second-hand-heaven.tumblr.com)


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